


Spoiler Alert: Baz Pitch is an Idiot and a Vampire and Also Really Horny

by forgot_my_holy_water



Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, I just reread this and i'm pretty sure that might be a praise kink, I just used the word plot three times in one sentence, M/M, Rimming, Simon Snow is a slut for scones, Song: Toxic (Britney Spears), Sort Of, and now baz has a boner, baz is bby and i love him, baz is such a mood in this tbh, bottom!simon, i'm so proud of me, if your eyes are clean and you want them to stay like that then don't read this, is there a proper way to tag or should i just go for it, it's non canon compliant in case you couldn't tell, lamb is an asshole and it has nothing to do with the story but i wanted to say it anyway, like she sees something and gets right the fuck out of there, much much feelings, oh wow that's an actual tag, penny figures shit out but a little too late if you ask me, shakespeare has entered the chat don't ask me how, simon is a needy bottom and baz loves it, simon snow was born to suck cock and he knows it, simon wearing lingerie is one of baz's kinks, that sounds really kinky but it's actually just sharing wands, there is very little plot but enough plot that it doesn't count as porn without plot, there seem to be a lot of them, they're in love ok, this is my first time writing anything that isn't entirely pg so feel free to laugh at my shit, top!baz, wand sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgot_my_holy_water/pseuds/forgot_my_holy_water
Summary: Mummers Tower: home of the most sexual tension since sliced bread.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	1. Well then

**Author's Note:**

> I actually really like Agatha but I made her a bitch in this because reasons.

BAZ

Simon Snow throws the door open with such force that is slams.

"Watch it, Simon," I say, my tone scathing. " _Some_ of us are trying to focus."

He glares at me. His eyes are red, and it looks like he's been crying. " _Some_ of us just got dumped for Jonathon McKay. Leave me the fuck alone."

We stand there for almost a full minute, staring at each other, until he moves forward, grabbing my tie and pulling my face down to his. Our mouths collide, and something explodes in my chest. I could stay like this forever. 

Emphasis on the _I._

That's obvious in how Simon breaks the kiss after barely a second, rushing back out the door he hadn't bothered to close.

*** 

Five hours. 

And eight minutes. 

That's how long I've been lying here, staring at the ceiling, tracing my fingers over my lips. Simon Snow kissed those lips five hours and eight—nine, now—minutes ago. 

Fuck, I didn't even kiss back. 

He barges into the room, stopping short when he sees me. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"Snow, I live here."

"You called me Simon. Before."

I don't try to deny it. "We need to talk."

"I don't see what there is to talk about."

Standing up, I walk over to him. He has to tilt his chin up to look at my face, and it's hard to not return his favour from earlier. "You kissed me, Sn... Simon." It's obvious that it's him I'm talking to, but I like saying his name. "What isn't there to talk about?" 

He stomps his foot in that cute way he does when he's nervous. "My girlfriend just broke up with me after telling me she cheated on me! I needed a distraction!"

My heart sinks. "A distraction?"

"Yes."

"Just pent-up sexual frustration?"

"That's right."

"So it meant nothing?" 

"Exactly!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Snow, but you don't get to just kiss people and call it 'nothing'! It doesn't work like that!" I'm shouting, now, we both are. 

"Like you don't do it all the time!" 

"For your information, I had never kissed anyone before your little 'distraction' this afternoon!" 

He steps backward and shuts the door this time, still staring at me. "What?"

I wish I hadn't drunk so much this morning, because I'm blushing furiously. "You heard. Laugh at me, but I wanted our first kiss to be book-perfect, and now it's gone and wasted on your petty arse!"

He glances at the floor. "Sorry, I didn't..." Suddenly, his eyes dart back up to mine. "Wait, did you say _our?"_

If my face was red before, now it must be supernova. All the blood I have in my body is rushing to my cheeks. "No." 

"Yes, you did." His eyes are practically looking into my soul, and I almost flinch at the intensity of it. "...Why?"

"Even if I did, it's none of your business, Snow."

He takes a step forward. "Simon."

"What?"

Another step. "I prefer it when you call me Simon." 

"And I prefer it when I don't." It's a lie, and I think he knows it. 

He keeps our gazes interlocked as he speaks. "Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never shall be Simon Snow." 

...Aaaaand now the blood is rushing somewhere else. Why the fuck did I drink so much? Actually, better question, why the fuck does Shakespeare turn me on?   
  
Another step. He’s only inches away, now. I would barely have to move if I wanted to—

Simon Snow is kissing me for the second time today. I wait for him to break away and ignore me for a week, or worse, laugh, but he doesn’t. His tongue runs across my lips, and it’s embarrassing how fast I open my mouth to let him in.

He’s an excellent kisser, I’ll give him that. 

The full force of this has only just hit me—Simon Snow, kissing _me—_ when those lips of his are suddenly on my jaw, biting and sucking and overall just making me a whole lot more aroused than I was earlier. 

His teeth graze a certain spot on my throat, and my hips back up into his involuntarily. 

I don’t know what’s happening anymore, but he’s reached my collarbone, and his tongue darts out to lick away the sweat that’s pooling there. His eyes dart to mine, pupils blown wide. 

“Take off your shirt.” His voice is low, almost a growl.

Trying to catch my breath, I nod, panting as I lift my football jersey over my head. Instantly, he’s on the attack again, leaving hickies down my chest. I’m pressed against the wall—I don’t know how I got there—and I’m as hard as I’ve ever been. 

He nips at the skin just below my belly button, and I stifle a moan. Then he takes the zipper of my trousers between his teeth—which is incredibly fucking hot—and glances up at me again, this time looking for permission. 

I barely have the chance to nod before he's undone my jeans and pulled them down with one good yank. For a few agonizing seconds, he just waits, his breath hot against the obvious lump in my pants. 

Then they're pooled around my ankles, too, and he's taken me into his mouth and _oh god._

_Fuck._

I do moan, now, and it's worth it (even if a little embarrassing) because he starts to bob his head up and down, lips sliding against me and I feel my muscles tightening and heat pooling in my stomach and now I'm coming in Simon Snow's mouth and I think I might be dreaming. 

"Simon- I- Simon- _Simon, oh god-"_

He swallows, continuing to suck me off until we're both panting, and then stands up. Our lips meet for the I-don't-knowth time this evening, and I can taste the heavy flavour of my seed on his tongue. He takes my hand and guides in into his pants, closing my fingers around his length.

And now I'm holding Simon's cock. I'm holding Simon's cock _because he wants me to._ Aleister Crowley, I'm living a charmed life. 

Slowly, I begin to stroke him in time with his breath, getting gradually faster and faster until hot wetness explodes against my palm. I draw my hand, shaking ever so slightly, out of his boxers, the cold air shocking compared to the warmth of his cum. Our eyes meet, and I stick a finger in my mouth, licking his juices off until he loses seemingly all control. 

He slams our faces together once more, this kiss a strange mixture of frenzied and gentle. When he pulls away, I take a breath. 

"Well, Snow? Was that just another 'distraction?'" 

"No."

A pause. "What was it, then?"

He looks up at me through his eyelashes, long and thick and dark, the sunlight bouncing off them just so. "A promise." 


	2. New developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up in Mummer's Tower

SIMON

Baz leans forward, trailing his fingers down my chest and toward the hem of my boxers. I nearly choke on air as one brushes my raging erection. 

"Please, just take them off." 

He glances up at me, eyes full of lust. His tongue darts out and licks my head through the fabric, already darkened with precum. My mouth opens willingly when two of his fingers are placed against it, sucking them as his warm mouth teases me. I hardly notice as he pulls down my pants, allowing my cock to spring free. I do hear, however, his voice, low and rasping as I writhe below him. 

"So pretty," he tells me, his wet thumb playing at my hole. "Gonna fuck you until you can't breathe, gorgeous." 

Baz talks a lot during sex. More specifically, he compliments me in the most eloquent ways possible. Eloquent is not a word I use often, but it's really the only way to describe it. 

"You'll scream so loudly, everyone in the school's gonna hear you." See? Eloquent. (Well, I think so, anyway.) "They'll race to the Chosen One's rescue and they'll see you come apart under me and then each and every one of them will know what a slut you are for my cock." As he says this, he pushes at my prostate, and I moan his name under my breath. 

"Baz..." Louder, then, as he shoves two fingers in to the hilt with no warning whatsoever. " _Baz!_ "

His mouth envelopes my cock right at the same time as a particularly skillful twist of his hand, and I almost come right then and there. He removes his lips almost immediately with a satisfying _pop,_ and I whine at the loss. "Please..."

Another finger. The ache in my balls is almost unbearable and I thrust backwards, desperate for more contact. Suddenly, he's gone, leaving me panting between his sheets as he grabs the lube. 

We're going to need another bottle soon; that's how much we shag. Every day after classes, and sometimes during lunch break if we can slip away unnoticed. I never realized how much of a sex drive I had until Baz Pitch was willing to satisfy it. 

He flips open the cap, and is just about to pour some on his hand when I gasp out "Here. Let me." 

His cock is a magnificent thing, one that I have time to admire as I prepare him. Just the sight of it has my hole throbbing in anticipation. As soon as I've finished, he shoves me deep into the mattress and enters me all at once. 

"Baz, oh god—"

The flimsy school bed shakes with the force of his thrusts, but I can still hear him above it. "Whose are you? Whose beautiful little slut are you?"

" _Yours_ , Baz, only yours, I'm gonna— _ah!"_

I'm close, so close to relief, but the bastard pulls out of me and holds my hands above my head to keep from touching myself. "You'll come when I tell you to. Understand?" 

I barely manage to nod. Apparently, he's satisfied, because he pushes into me again, agonizingly slowly. His hips move more gently this time, focusing on hitting my prostate every time. With each movement of our bodies, the unspoken message lodges itself more firmly in my heart. 

This was never no-strings-attached casual sex. That's been clear from the first day. But these past few weeks, I think we've crossed the line known as _feelings._ I think we've fallen in love with each other. I have, anyway. 

He meets my eyes, nods once, and I come untouched. 

A cry escapes my lips as hot, white streams pulse onto both of our stomachs. I feel him empty inside me a moment later with a shout of his own. Our eyes meet and smiles spread across both of our faces. 

"Oh, come here, you," I say as I wind my fingers through his hair and pull him down to me for a kiss, our noses bumping. The angle's a little awkward, especially since his dick's still up my arse, but we manage. And that's when it _really_ hits me. 

I am in love with Baz Pitch. Baz Pitch, who I have antagonized and bickered with and even thrown punches at, for the past six years. Baz Pitch, who has allegedly tried to kill me on more than one occasion. Baz Pitch, who I'm supposed to kill someday. Baz Pitch, who I am still fairly sure is a bloodsucking vampire. 

I hope he's in love with me, too. (Considering his slip up three weeks ago, about how he'd spent time thinking about _our_ first kiss; and the fact that we've spent a good third of our time shagging and/or snogging, I have good reason to think so.) 

He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes when I let out a small giggle. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. S'just... I broke your nose. In fifth year." 

"And?" There's definitely a not-so-subtle undertone of 'can we get back to snogging now?'

"And now we're fucking." 

"And?"

"Who could've guessed?" 

"Certainly not me. I was so sure it would never—could never..." 

"Well, it did." 

His voice has a soft tone when he speaks next, a tone I don't think anyone else has had the privilege to hear in a long, long time. "It did." 


	3. Things are really heating up in the scone fandom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex and magic and scones, oh my

BAZ

Simon Snow and I are shagging. 

Let's say it one more time, for the people in the back: _Simon Snow and I are shagging._

Like, we take off our clothes and do stuff involving my cock and his arsehole and more often than not someone's tongue. 

I think if I repeat it enough, I won't wake up, because Crowley knows this is a dream. 

For instance, in what waking world would (my) Simon be lying naked in (my) bed absentmindedly stroking himself?

And then, as soon as I walk through the door, look up at me and say "I'm going to ride you today"? 

I think I'm dead, and this must be heaven. 

He grins when I step towards him, shedding my jersey on the way, and climb over him to straddle his hips. He immediately sets to work on my zipper, eagerly reducing me to a similar stage of undress as he. I mutter a quick **_'It's wet out,'_** lubing myself up before flipping us so he's on top of me. For a moment, we just stare at each other, something unsaid passing between us. Just as quickly as it started, it's over, and he's positioning himself against my cock. 

"Hold on," I say. "Don't you need to—"

"Nope." He pops the 'p' and leans down briefly to kiss me. "I stretched myself out while you were at practice. You were great, by the way; I watched you out the window." 

I think about Simon watching me play football while fingering himself, and my cock twitches against his hole just as he thrusts his hips and takes me all at once. We both moan at the sensation, waiting a moment so as to adjust before he lifts himself almost all the way off and slams back down again. 

I place my hands on his thighs, helping him move against me, my fingers digging into the taught muscle hard enough to leave marks.He tips his head back and lets out a load moan, an expression of pure ecstasy washing over his face, and I know he's managed to hit the perfect spot. It only takes a few more thrusts before his warmth clenches around me and he spills over my stomach. I empty inside of him a beat later, our movements slowing. 

"Wow," I say when my breathing evens out. "That was..."

"Incredible? Amazing? Something we definitely need to do again?"

"Yes." 

He reaches down to where my school trousers are on the floor and pulls my wand out of the pocket. _**"Clean as a whistle."**_

I stare at him in shock. "My wand. You just—"

"What?" I can see as realization hits him. "Oh."

"Yeah." 

"Is..." He blushes, looking away from my eyes. "Is that okay?"

"Simon, it's better than okay. You just _used my wand._ Do I need to make this any clearer?"

"I don't think so." He grins shyly at me. "Means our magick's compatible, doesn't it?" 

I pull him down flush against my chest and kiss him lightly on the nose. "It means we match."

The heat, the passion of sex is really something, but I think it's moment like these that are my favourite. Just lying here in the afterglow, still entwined, enjoying each others' presence. Simon Snow is a miracle, and right now I can't ignore the fact that maybe he thinks I'm one, too. 

He presses our lips together, slow and lazy, making a small noise of contentment when I pull the blankets around us. I pry open his mouth with my tongue, but he breaks the kiss and rises up on all fours, letting cold air between us. At the pout I send his way, he smirks—probably learned it from me—and refuses to come back down. I shift myself up onto my elbows to reach up for him, causing my cock to slip out from within him, and one of us—probably me, but I'll blame it on Simon if he brings it up—whines a little at the loss of warmth. Once we're firmly connected at the lips once more, I wrap my arms around him and we fall back down to the mattress. 

I don't know how long we kiss for, but it ends somewhat abruptly when Simon says, out of the blue, "I want scones." 

We stare at each other for a moment. "You want scones?"

"I want scones."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now." 

My traitorous lips twitch into a smile. "What will you do if I get you scones?"

"Hmmm." He pretends to think for a minute. "I'll let you have one."

"Two."

"Alright, two."

"And I get a blowjob." 

"You're very pushy, aren't you?"

I grin at him. "Very." 

"Wait, Baz," he protests when I try to maneuver myself out from under him, "Where are you going?"

"To get your scones."

"But I don't want you to leave." He pouts. 

Mordelia acts just like this when she wants crisps—it's endearing in the most infuriating way. I think the pair of them would get along well. "Look, Simon, I can't get you scones if you don't let me up. It'll take me ten minutes, tops." 

He heaves the greatest sigh known to humankind, but he's smiling. "Fine." 

***

I'm down to the kitchen in three and a half minutes.

Cook Pritchard raises her eyebrows when I ask for two dozen sour cherry scones, but doesn't say anything. There is a similar reaction from Gareth when I pass him in the courtyard, as from a fourth-year whose name I think starts with a vowel. In fact, the first person to speak to me at all is—surprisingly—Bunce, and only once I snap completely at her.

"What?" I demand, past the point of being able to ignore the stares. 

"It's your hair," she says, looking like she's trying not to smirk. "It's... well..."

"Spit it out. I have somewhere to be."

"I have no doubt you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, Baz, that you are sporting a look known to many a teenager as 'sex hair.' Been getting some, have we?"

If I had fed last night, I would be the colour of one of these blasted cherries. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, nothing." Her expression turns serious. "She'll break your heart, you know. Simon can attest to that." 

She ducks through a doorway, leaving me standing alone, mouth agape. Bunce thinks I'm shagging _Wellbelove?_ I shake myself to my senses and hurry back to Mummer's before the scones get cold. 

When I get back, Simon has pushed the beds together and is standing on top of them in just his Calvin Klein boxers, using my hairbrush as a microphone as he belts out the lyrics to Dancing Queen. He stops singing when I walk in, hopping down to pull me in for a kiss.

"Twelve minutes," he tells me. "You said you'd only be ten."

The music is still playing, and I look around for the source. 

"You left you wand behind," he says by way of explanation. "A quick **_If music be the food of love_** and boom! Instant karaoke party!"

"My wand, you say?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. He open his mouth to say something, but I interject. "It's fine, honestly. I... I like it."

We share a smile, warm and secretive. The moment ends abruptly, however, when he notices the scones I'm carrying and promptly snatches one. To my surprise, he doesn't immediately start gorging himself—he holds it up to my lips and waits for me to take a bite. 

Once I've finished chewing (I don't talk with my mouth full, unlike some barbarians I could name) I grin at him. "Letting me have the first scone? Wow, you must really love me."

The look on his face is what makes me realize what I just said. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to. I get if you don't—"

It's his turn to cut _me_ off. "Yeah. I- I love you." 

I think I've been staring at him for a little too long, as his expression has grown slightly panicked. "You don't have to say it back or anything, I mean, I thought you wanted—"

Instead of letting him finish, I reach out to take him by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a scone-flavoured kiss. "I love you, too."

The words are murmured against his lips, so quiet that even if there was another person in the room, they wouldn't be able to hear. 

When we finally have to breathe (oxygen's a bitch, but you didn't hear it from me), he gestures at the plate. "What took you so long?"

"Ran into Bunce." 

"What, did she engage you in polite conversation or something?" He scoffs at the notion. 

"No, just informed me that I had—and I quote—'sex hair.'" 

Trying and failing to hide a smile, he tells me "Well, you do." 

"And you didn't tell me?" 

"Thought it would be best to let you figure that out for yourself." 

"Arsehole."

"You love my arsehole." 

"That I do." 

We laugh, long and hard, and he drags me up onto the beds, telling me to pick a song. "You just say the name and the music changes!"

I think for a moment, then, "Toxic." 

When the song starts playing, he tosses me the hairbrush. I'm not a good singer, never have been, and this is the kind of thing I'd only do for Simon.

_Baby, can't you see,_

_I'm calling,_

_A guy like you_

_Should wear a warning_

_It's dangerous,_

_I'm falling._

He joins in on the next lyric, and I laugh at how earnest he is, pulling me towards him into some strange dance. I fell for him a long time ago. 

_There's no escape,_

_I can't wait,_

_I need a hit,_

_Baby gimme it_

_You're dangerous,_

_I'm loving it._

I love him. 

_Too high,_

_Can't come down,_

_Lose my head,_

_Spinning 'round and 'round_

_Do you feel me now?_

I feel him. How could I not? He's everywhere. He's everything. He's mine. 

_Oh, the taste of your lips_

_I'm on a ride_

_You're toxic, I'm slipping under_

_With a taste of poison paradise,_

Every moment with Simon is paradise. Nothing about him is poison, though—beneath the Chosen One, the facade of the perfect soldier, he's all soft edges and meaningful glances. He's love. 

_I'm addicted to you_

I'm addicted to him. I always have been. 

_Don't you know that you're toxic?_

He could never be toxic. 

_And I love what you do_

_Don't you know that you're toxic?_

Simon's got this huge grin on his face, and I really want to kiss him. So I do. Because I can. 

_It's getting late_

_To give you up,_

_I took a sip_

_From my devil's cup_

_Slowly,_

_It's taking over me_

Two months ago, I would have pinched myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Now, I don't even try, because I know from experience it'll take a hell of a lot more than that to wake me up. 

_Too high,_

_Can't come down,_

_It's in the air_

_And it's all around_

_Can you feel me now?_

There are no words to describe how I feel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I promise that is the last time Britney Spears will feature in any of my stories.


	4. Oh look, more hot sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm bored so Simon's gonna suck Baz off WITH FEELINGS

SIMON

We fall asleep like that, with the beds still pushed together, and when I wake with a yawn the following morning I wonder why we hadn't though of it before. It's an experience, let me tell you, to wake up next to Baz Pitch without the danger of toppling onto the fucking floor. 

I simply stare at him, watching him sleep (in a loving, completely non-creepy and unstalkerlike way) until he cracks one eyelid open. "I still owe you a blowie," I tell him by way of greeting, and he grumbles into my chest. 

"It's what, six in the bloody morning, Snow? Can't a bloke even get out of bed without being propositioned?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry. What would you like me to say—'Good morning, darling'?" My tone is teasing, but I secretly love the idea.

So does he, apparently, because the next instant something decidedly hard is being pressed into my hip. "Repeat that, and I might just take you up on your offer." 

I take his chin between to fingers and tilt it upwards. "Good morning, darling," I say, and he moans into my mouth as I crush our lips together. 

The exiting foreplay, the race to be the first without any clothes on, is exiting, to be sure, but there's something special about having the both of us undressed already. I let the kiss linger for a moment or two, enjoying the brush of skin against skin, before I'm pulling back to admire him. One of us had managed to kick to blankets off, leaving him bare and open in front of me, his erection flushed and needy and straining for contact.

He's practically moaning already, even though I haven't touched him yet. I watch as he tips his head back, bites his lower lip. His eyelids flutter shut, desperation written on every inch of his face. 

Baz so rarely loses control like this, so rarely comes (no pun intended) undone quite like this, and I know I'm going to enjoy it. Slowly, my eyes rake up and down his body, his wanting for me, and only me. He looks like something I want to eat. (Ooh, eating him out. I think I'll do that after I suck him off.) 

"Simon..."

Right, his dick. His dick in my mouth. I'm supposed to be giving him head, and I will—eventually. But not until I make him beg. 

I reach out one hand and gently stroke him from base to tip, fingers tracing the one pulsing nerve that juts out along the shaft. They drag in his precome, too, and I run my thumb across the slit before raising it to my lips and tasting. 

I press my lips to the inside of his thigh, sucking a bit before moving a little closer to where he really wants me. The next spot receives the same treatment, and the next, and I make sure to leave marks as I go. He moans loudly when I take one of his bollocks into my mouth, his back arching off the mattress. 

"Please—"

I remove my mouth entirely from his body and he regains enough composure to speak. "Just get on with it already, you bloody nightmare."

His hips buck up into my throat almost as soon as I go down on him, and it turns out Penny was onto something all those times she suggested that stuffing too many scones in my mouth might kill my gag reflex. (Ew, don't think about Penny. Major turn-off!) I swirl my tongue around the tip the way I've learned, and then just barely graze my teeth over the length the way he really likes. The cry of pleasure he lets out sends shivers down my spine. 

"I'm— Simon, I'm going to—"

His words are cut off by a moan, and I pull off him just before his release, moving my mouth downwards. Another moan as soon as I lick across his hole, louder than the last, urges me to push my tongue past the ring of muscle. 

Giving rimjobs is kind of strange. I mean, it's not the kind of thing you'd expect to be enjoyable—sticking your tongue up someone's arse—but it is. Especially when Baz gets like this. 

He's practically writhing, fisting one hand in the sheets and the other in my hair. The sound he lets out when I reach up to jerk him off is almost a scream (one thing I've learned about Baz is that he's really loud in bed; I love it) and his breath is heavy and uneven as I begin pumping both hand and tongue faster. His muscles tighten abruptly, and I put my mouth back on his cock just in time to catch his orgasm, streams of cum pulsing down my throat. 

The hand in my hair loosens abruptly, darting up to cover his mouth as a choked noise escapes it. Is Baz... crying?

"Are you alright, love?" I ask, worried, reaching up to his face. He turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut. "Please, darling. What's wrong?"

When I brush my fingers across his cheekbone, his eyes fly open to look at me. My heart skips a beat at the almost feral fear I see in them, and he shakes his head abruptly, but lets me slowly pull his hand away from his face to reveal two long, glistening white fangs. I let out a gasp. 

Apparently, he takes this as a bad sign, because he rolls over enough to bury his face in my pillow, body wracked with silent sobs. A moment later, I pull myself up beside him. 

He shies away when I reach towards his shoulder, so I lie down and curl my body around his, pressing kisses into his hair. 

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay."

I don't know how many times I whisper those words before he relaxes into my chest, letting me gently turn him onto his back. 

"Baz? Are you alright?"

He nods once, then shakes him head.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

Another shake. 

"Do you just want me to stay here?"

His bottom lip begins to tremble. "I'm... I'm a monster, Simon."

A sharp pang erupts in my chest. "No, you aren't, darling. You're a person, same as me, and I love you. Fangs and all." 

"I'm not," he says, and it sounds like he's telling himself as much as he is me. "I'm not even _alive_. You shouldn't love me." 

"Baz, please. Look at me, baby. You're alive. You're _perfect._ Look at you. Gorgeous, smart, athletic, kind."

"M'not kind."

"That's what you want people to think. But you _are._ You hold my hand when I'm having a bad day and you bring me scones when I want them and you help me study and you kiss me like I'm not the chosen one, I'm a regular person and you love me anyway. Being a vampire doesn't change that."

He nods ever so slightly, but I can see he doesn't believe it. So I tell him again, and again. Different words, same message: _I love you despite that. I love you_ because _of it. I love you on purpose._ My voice has gone almost hoarse by the time he's fallen back into a fitful sleep, and I slot myself next to him, right where I belong.

We miss breakfast. I don't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe did ya notice the rwrb reference anyone


	5. No, Penny, don't open the... never fucking mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I smell plot

PENNY

There's something going on between the two of them, I know it. Basil hasn't instigated any fights at all for at least two months, and I can't remember the last time Simon said the word 'plotting.' In fact, he hasn't brought up the vampire theory or the trying-to-steal Agatha one for a long time. (I haven't mentioned my suspicions that they've been hooking up; Simon really doesn't need knowledge of his ex and his enemy's sex life.)

Baz passed us in the hall this morning on his was to chemistry, and the two were staring at each other for almost twenty seconds before going their separate ways. Simon's been getting distracted almost constantly since then, and now he's shifting in place, obviously not paying attention to Miss Possibelf. When she tells us to bring our homework to the front of the class, all Simon does is stare somewhere at the ceiling, and I elbow him. He's obviously startled; he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

For some reason, however, instead of shaking himself to his senses as he usually would, he stiffens, eyes sliding closed and a strange expression on his face. It takes a few deep breath for him to relax, and I'm starting to get worried. 

"Simon? You okay?"

"Yeah, m'fine. Great, actually. Never been better."

But his hands are clenched at his sides. 

When class is dismissed out, he practically leaps from his seat, so preoccupied he nearly forgets his bag. I wave goodbye, but whatever's on his mind is clearly all he's thinking about. Normally, this is when we'd go to the dining hall to get a snack before lounging around on the lawn until dinnertime, but we haven't done that in a while. Not for a long time, now that I think about it; It's been at least since he and Baz started acting weird. Since he and—

Oh, god. 

That's it. 

He's trying to get back with Agatha. 

I'd told him she wasn't good for him, but he didn't listen, and what did he do? Went and got himself used, cheated on, and subsequently dumped. Now Agatha's moved onto Baz. The only question is: does Simon know? 

On the one hand, the Simon I know wouldn't leave Basil alone for a second if he found out. But, on the other hand, he's definitely acting strange—too strange for a person who believes his ex-girlfriend is going to take him back, no problem. And while Basil would never pass up an opportunity to lord something over Simon's head, he's also someone I'd expect to value his own privacy. 

I'm pulled from my thoughts when I find myself outside Mummers House. I really do need to talk to Simon about this, I think, and now's a good a time as any. So, checking to make sure there isn't anyone around, I duck inside and make my way up the stairs. 

Baz and Simon's room is at the very top, down a corridor that no one ever visits. Why would they? We're all waiting for the day one of them kills the other—whether in a proper duel or just because he's annoyed—and, honestly, who really wants to be the one to find their classmate's body? 

Certainly not me, but hopefully I'm not too late. 

As I approach the door, I hear voices. Pressing one ear to the keyhole, I can distinctly make out Basil's voice, talking to someone I assume is Agatha. 

"You don't know how hard I was, watching you. Knowing what you were feeling when no one else did. Merlin, it took everything in me not to just—"

There's a loud moan, and I almost turn to go.

"God, I was so fucking turned on. Bet you loved that," Agatha whispers, though her voice is off. "All the ways I tried to hide my slip-ups."

"So beautiful, sweetheart. So gorgeous with that pretty little blush of yours. You look just like that when I fuck you, did you know that?"

"It was all I could think of—all the filthy thing you're gonna do. That thing doesn't feel nearly as good as you do inside me."

"D'you want me to take it out? Replace it with my cock and fill you like you wanna be filled?"

"Pl- please..." Her voice is choked, desperate. I should really stop listening. 

But when I try to step away, I lose my balance and fall to my knees, ending up with my eye right at the keyhole. What I see sends my mind reeling. 

Baz is there, sure, looking like sex on legs. He's got someone pressed against the wall, arms pinned above their head and head tilted back in ecstasy. 

The thing is...

It's not Agatha, it's Simon. 

He's dressed in fucking lingerie, with a bright pink lacy corset thing and matching thong. He's so erect it looks painful, straining against the fabric, and as I watch, Basil pushes the string of the thong to one side. His fingers deftly remove something slick and black and wet-looking from I don't want to think where (I know, but I'm not going to think) and that's when I wrench my eyes away and stumble backwards into the hallway. 

I sit with my back against the opposite wall, trying to make sense of what I've just seen. Simon and Basil are having sex, that much is pretty damn clear. It's obviously consensual, and, if I reevaluate the conclusions I jumped to about Agatha, it's been going on for a while.

Bloody hell. What has he gotten himself into? I'm guessing it's some sort of enemies-with-benefits things, but what if he starts to feel something? Merlin, it'll be Agatha all over again, and I don't think he can handle that. 

I can't help but wonder, though—why each other? Sure, it's convenient, what with them sharing a room and all, but they can't stand each other. Besides, neither of them is that stupid. They have to realize how much worse things will become between them if this ends. Plus, I didn't know Simon was even into blokes. Basil could be, if I think about it, but Simon? Even if he did get off with another guy, I'd expect it to be just that—getting off. Not full-on penetrative sex. _Certainly_ not with him... bottoming. 

Oh, god. I feel horrid even thinking about this, like it's none of my business. It really isn't, I know, but I need to keep an eye out for Simon; he's my best friend. The only question I have is: why each other? Sure, it's convenient, what with them sharing a room and all, but neither of them is that stupid. They've got to realize how much worse things will be if this ends badly, which is almost a guarantee. 

There's a yell of pleasure from inside the room, and now that I know, the voice is unmistakably Simon's. "God, _yes,_ darling... oh, _right fucking there_... ah!"

I stand up. Whatever I expected being Simon's best friend would be like, 'hearing him get shagged within an inch of his life' was certainly not in the job description. My knees are threatening to give out all the way down the stairs, and I'm thankful no one sees me. 

There are people milling about in the courtyard, but I don't stop to talk to anyone. I need to get right back to my room and read a book and try to forget about all this. If I can find peace and quiet anywhere, it's there. 

I throw open the door to my room without thinking, and the two people inside jump apart, startled. Trixie pulls the blanket over her legs, Keris hurriedly doing up her shirt. 

Nicks and Slicks. I am quite literally surrounded by gay sex. 

A few hours go by before I deem it safe to return to my room. Keris is gone (thank Merlin) but the whole place reeks of pixie dust, and I shudder to think why. Trixie won't meet my eyes. I'm glad of it. 

***

Neither Simon nor Basil is at breakfast. I swallow my pride and slip outside, my heart pounding as I walk to Mummers House. A few boys are probably still in bed; I'm careful not to make too much noise on my way upstairs. 

Having learned my lesson last time, I press my ear to the door. There's no sound from inside. 

I knock. 

Upon receiving no answer, I open the door, bracing myself for the worst. 

They've pushed their beds together, and it's impossible to tell whose limbs are whose, they're tangled together so tightly. As I watch, Basil stirs. His hand immediately goes to Simon's hair as he mumbles something I can't quite hear. It seems to wake him, though, and he pushes himself up on one elbow to look at Baz. 

"G'morning."

They smile at each other. "Good morning."

Neither has noticed I'm here. I clear my throat, and they both turn to look at me, eyes wide in panic. 

"We need to talk." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe cliffhanger


End file.
